The tense meeting that morning of the president, his senior staff, and the Joint Chiefs was interrupted by the abrupt opening of the door between the Oval Office and that of the president's executive secretary. The secretaryMrs. Pike, frizzy-haired and known for her brusqueness gazed questioningly into the room.
Irritation creased Sam Castilla's forehead, but if Estelle was interrupting, he knew it had to be important. Still, these last few days had been nerve-racking and his nights sleepless, so he snapped, "I thought I said no interruptions, Estelle."
"I know, sir. Sorry, but General Henze's on the line."
The president nodded, smiled a mute apology to Mrs. Pike, and picked up the receiver. "Carlos? How's everything over there?" He gazed at the cluster of people sitting and standing around the Oval Office. The name "Carlos" told them it was General Henze, and they had grown even more alert.
"Almost nothing new in Europe, Mr. President," General Henze reported. His voice was resolute, but the president heard an undertow of anger as well. "There hasn't been a single breakdown or interruption anywhere on the continent for more than twenty-four hours."
The president decided to ignore the anger for the time being. "A bleak ray of sunshine, but at least it's something. What about locating the terrorists?"
"Again nothing so far." Henze hesitated. "May I be frank, sir?"
"I insist on it. What's the problem, Carlos?"
"I had a meeting with Lieutenant Colonel Jon Smiththe army doctor you sent over to handle the search. He wasn't reassuring. He's shooting in the dark, Mr. President. Not only does he suspect that a trusted aide to General La Porte is mixed up with the crazies, he flat out said even I wasn't above suspicion. In short, he knows damn little."
Inwardly, the president sighed. "It seems to me his progress has been impressive."
"He's dug up a lot. That's true, but I don't see he's any closer to the damned dingus. I think he's spinning his turbans. Shooting off half-cocked, and I'm damned concerned. Shouldn't we put everything we have on this, not just one lone man, no matter how good he may be?"
From the sound of it, the president decided, the general would be a lot happier sending the entire 82nd Airborne and all of the 1st Air Cav to search the Middle East, house-to-house, for the terrorists. Of course, the downside of that could be World War III, but the general had not thought that far ahead.
"I'll take your thoughts and objections under advisement, General, with my thanks," the president told him. "If I decide to change horses, I'll let you know. But don't forget Langley's on the job, too, as is MI6."
There was stony silence. Then: "Yes, sir. Of course."
The president nodded to himself. The general would toe the line for a while at least. "Continue to keep me informed. Thank you, Carlos."
After he hung up, President Castilla hunched his big shoulders, dropped his chin onto his tented fingers, and peered through his titanium glasses outdoors into the relentless morning storm. The sky was so dismal and gray with rain he could not see beyond the Rose Garden, which did not improve his frame of mind. He was more than uneasy himself, even scared, that Covert-One had not found the molecular computer.
But he could not let his misgivings show, at least not yet. He turned to focus on the advisers and military leaders who were seated on the chairs and sofa and standing against the mantel, waiting. His gaze lowered to linger on the Great Seal of the United States that was woven into the carpet in the middle of the group, and he told himself the United States of America was not beaten yet, and it would not be beaten.
He said calmly, "As you heard, that was General Henze from NATO. Everything's been quiet over there, too. No attack for twenty-four hours."
"I don't like it," Chief of Staff Charles Ouray said. "Why would the people with the DNA computer stop harassing us now? Threatening us? Do they have all they wanted?" In his early sixties, he had an almost lineless, triangular face and a low, gruff voice. He crossed his arms and frowned. "I seriously doubt it."
"Or perhaps our countermeasures are stopping them," National Security Adviser Powell-Hill suggested hopefully. Slender, businesslike, and no-nonsense as usual, she was immaculately turned out, this time in a Donna Karan suit. "With luck, all the backup systems we've brought online have stumped them."
Lieutenant General Ivan Guerrero, army chief of staff, leaned forward